


The Song of Magnus Burnsides

by Fools_Rush_In_TAZ



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Experimental, F/M, Frostbite, M/M, Scottish Historical Fiction, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fools_Rush_In_TAZ/pseuds/Fools_Rush_In_TAZ
Summary: Gather, ye friends, and hear the tale of the bravest warrior in all Scotland. His village burned, his family killed, learn the lengths he would take to find revenge.





	1. The Burning

**Author's Note:**

> An experimental little piece. I have ideas for it, and if y'all like it, let me know and I'll keep writing it!

“Hail, sword of Cerbhall !  
Oft hast thou been in the great woof of war,  
oft giving battle, beheading high princes.

Oft hast thou gone a-raiding in the hands of kings,  
oft hast thou divided the spoil. 

Many a shield hast thou cleft in battle,  
many a head, many a chest, many a fair skin.”

-Dallán mac Móre

Be it known: that which follows is the history of Magnus Burnsides, chosen warrior of the great goddess Istus, defender of Pictland. He was born to our land in the Roman year 350, son of Cormac and Lili, hale and hearty. Raised in our ways, he lived simply as an artisan, carver of wooden tools and furniture. Peaceful was the land into which he was born, ere the haunting of empire reached it. 

Lo, the Romans did sweep over Britannia, conquering all. Long before the time of our tribe, all of the island south of Caledonia did descend into their clutch. Here shall we find him, savior of the realm, as Rome expands north and his home in Raven’s Roost doth burn.

...

“Julia! Julia!”

Magnus was lost. His whole world was engulfed in flame, and without his wife at his side, Magnus knew naught. The Romans had come swiftly, burning homes and slaughtering his people. The meager guard they had posted was overrun by ballista and bow, and then the imperial cavalry had swept in to murder his kin in the street. Magnus awoke to the crashing of stones and shot against his walls, had charged outside to find his Julia lost, and the great crash of battle all around him.

He rushed inside, seeking his spear, his spear, where was his spear? Missing, lost, looted? He found his sword, his shield, and his leather armor, made for him by Mungan, the smith, whose body was lying on the step, but his faithful spear was not to be seen. Now armed, Magnus charged again into the street, ready to fight. Where was Julia, and her father Stephan? Were they well, and could he help them to escape this inferno?

A sword was thrust into his face at once. “Hold, villain!” cried the Roman soldier. “Disarm thyself!” Magnus’s sword drank of his chest before dragging across his throat. The Roman died at the feet of the carpenter. 

“Julia!” he cried again, casting about for his darling. A scrap of cloth in the muddy street, the hem of her dress perhaps? The smell of her perfume mixed with the blood in the wind. She was all around him, and nowhere to be seen. “Julia!” he cried again and again, and again and again he found no answer. 

“Magnus!” A solder grabbed him; a fellow Pict, painted blue with woad. “To arms, Magnus! Your Julia is safe, fight beside me!”

“Ay, friend Barry. To the grave!” And so Magnus and Barry, alone in the city square fought until their position became impossible, and they were surrounded by men on horseback on all sides. Magnus planted his sword into the Earth, and Barry his spear. A rider in golden armor strode forward. 

“To your knees, worms. Know ye not your betters?”

“My betters?” begged Barry for pardon. “Nay. Only a dog astride a nag do I see. My better is beside me.” He clasped Magnus’s shoulder in his hand.

The rider smilled, a grim look on a face as hawkish as his own. He dismounted, handed his helmet to a subordinate, and stepped forward to face the warriors. 

“You speak bravely, and you fight like a pair of demons. I would offer you one chance to survive this day. Many of my legion did you kill with your own hands. I would recruit your hands to fill these vacancies. Ride with me, and I will spare your lives. 

Magnus and Barry exchanged a look, first of questioning, and then of certainty. Barry answered with Magnus’s sentiment. 

“I was born a Pict, Roman. And I will die a Pict, though it should be today.”

The Roman nodded. “Very well. It shall be today.” And he drove his sword into Barry’s guts. Barry stared him in his eyes as he fell to his knees, and finally broke his gaze as he collapsed.

“You’ll die for that, villain,” Magnus growled. “You’ve slain a brother of mine, and for that I’ll have your head.”

“Remember the name of Governor Kalen, slave. And when you’re ready, my sword shall await yours.”

And away Kalen and his band rode. 

Magnus searched his village for another survivor, found none. Julia, though, he did find. His spear was broken beneath her, and she was cleft across the chest. Magnus wept, and held his fallen bride. 

...

Take heart, brave warrior, for your quest has just begun. To war shall you go, far from your home and near, to the very gates of Hell. The head of Kalen is your prize, and at no length will you cease your search. Bold Magnus, bear arms, and avenge your home!


	2. The Joining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See how the hero falls from high to low wandering, ye children. But hark! What dost this way come...?

“And he wondered whether death might not be vulnerable to an invasion of his own territory.”  
-W.G Sebald

Whither wander you, spirit? Magnus left his home to the forest, where he wailed and wept for seven days and seven nights, and buried Julia in a mighty cairn of stones. His sword fell from his side, his shield left to rust. Too aggrieved to hunt, too forlorn to gather, for a season mighty Magnus withered, grew thin and haggard, until biting winter halted him and felled him. O chosen knight of Istus, take heart! for help is on it’s way. 

...

“Would that I may die, that I can see Julia again and be free of this callous world!”

Crawled Magnus to a creeping bush, and took he into his hand a bushel of poison mistletoe. Plucked he the berries, and gathered them to his chest. Bushel by bushel he gathered, until his pile was a foot high. Then didst he make a fire, and brew the leaves and berries into tea, with which he would end his life. He found a barken ewer for a cup, and prepared to meet Julia, when his hand was stayed.

“Ay, thug, why don’t’cha invite me to tea?”

The fairy appeared suddenly at his side, and grabbed his wrist with a grasp like iron! With a giggle, the fairy leapt across the fire, lifted the pot, and drank the boiling elixir in one long drag!

“Who art thou, that you can appear like a wisp, can grab with a grip like the strongest man, and can drink a rolling pot full of poison all whilst being so slight and fair?” asked Magnus of his unexpected guest.

“Nice to meet you, my guy. The name’s Taako, y’know from TV?”

“What strange speech you have, fairy friend,” said Magnus, dazzled as he was by the spirit.

“Oh, do you like it? I’m from New Elfington.”

“Where is this mystical land?” 

“Oh, y’know, behind every mushroom and under every stone.” The spirit winked at Magnus and went on. “Anyway, I couldn’t help noticing you were about to bite the big one here. Thought I’d jump in and spot you a favor.”

“Ay, and verily, I am grateful, but death was my aim and intent, dear friend. I brewed the poison, and I intended to drink it.”

“Uh-huh,” said the apparition.“What’s gotcha so down, if I may ask?”

Magnus relayed to the fairy all that had happened to him since the autumn leaves had fallen, when Kalen had come and ruined his life. All the grief, the violence, the biting cold and more biting despair he told to Taako the fey. The fairy fell silent and considered all, his head in his hands. And finally, he lifted his head and spake thus:

“Yeah, that’s some real tough luck, fam. Sounds like this cat really goofed your shit up.”

“Ay, and my family as well.” Magnus felt affection for the fairy growing in his breast. Not since he fled his village had he felt as understood.

“Is there any way I can help, my dude?”

Magnus laughed, for the first time in months. “If thou canst kill Kalen, and return to me my wife, then perhaps.”

Silently they sat, listening to the fall of leaves into the snow. At last, Taako the fairy rose into the air, excitement inciting in him the motion of the butterfly, and he did declare to Magnus, “Hey! I know just the thing for you! There’s a druid a day’s journey to the south, he’s s'posed to be real wise. He spends all his days sitting on tree stumps and meditating an’ shit. Maybe he can help you find this Kalen guy!”

"What ho!” cried Magnus. “Lead me to him, friend Taako! I have no sword, and I have no shield, but I have fire in my chest and a will to avenge!”

“Hell yeah, my guy, let’s get a move-on!” Taako answered.

Go ye, bold Magnus, and lead him, oh beauteous fey! Seek ye the wooden priest of Pan, seek from him divination and miracles! Sally forth, and avenge your home and your love!  
…

A Song of Taako the Fey,   
to be played with lute and fife

Oh Taako dear,   
Who goblins fear,  
Seek the hero ailing,

Oh, spirit fair,   
Of golden hair,   
In hunt for life he’s failing!

Stay his hand and rescue the land,  
Rescue the hero bold.  
Guide him on, you golden fawn,  
And be yet known of olde.


	3. The Sorceress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their quest barely begun, the pair are waylaid by a storm, and help comes in strange form.

“By the pricking of my thumbs,  
Something wicked this way comes.”  
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act lV, Scene I

Lo, the pair didst travel through many an hour through this haunted wood. All evening did they walk, ere stopping for camp in a shady grove under a copse of elder trees. Loom, loom did the trees, and the darkness was absolute. Until! A terrible storm did descend over the night sky, thunder cracking it like an eternal eggshell! Blow, blow ye winds, blow! The fey took shelter under his magic umbrella, but Magnus as ever was not so lucky. A terrible storm of snow and sleet crashed down, and nigh ended the hero’s journey in one blow!

…

The hero, frozen, shivers. The morning after the storm, Magnus lies chilled in a pile. Wrapped in his cloak, now soaked through, he felt for his feet and could not. 

“Taako, dear fairy, if thou dost love me, seek help. I feel I am dying, and I have not yet had my revenge!”

“On it, amigo!” cried Taako, aid of heroes, and flew off for help.

Long did Magnus lie beneath his cloak ere he was discovered.

“Hoy there!” came a young woman’s voice, crying from the edge of the grove.

“...hoy…” Magnus croaked, life fading into the snow.

The woman rushed to him, and opened her purse. From it she drew a leather bladder, a small pestle and grinder, and a bag of herbs. She stooped beside him and drew selections from the bag, grinding them to powder. She mixed them into the water in the bladder and rose to pour the tincture into Magnus’s helpless mouth, but was stopped by the tip of an umbrella thrust into her chest.

“Hold, mortal,” Taako commanded. “By the might of the Fairy Queen Istus, answer for me: what venin dost thou use to murder my companion?”

“‘Tis but chamomile and balm of Gilead. Your mate is doomed to die lest I help him. Shall I leave him to die?”

Lovely Taako considered. Magnus looked at him with faith in his eyes; what else had he to offer?

“Drink it,” commanded Taako. “And pray hard that he lives, witch.”

Magnus drank the tincture, and felt a fire creep to life in his belly. The witch pulled back the bladder, and began to pray an invocation to the great goddesses of life, death, and nature to heal Magnus’s maladies.

“He needs a fire. Help me bring him to my cabin. He can recuperate there.”

And Taako the strange and the stranger witch hefted Magnus the bold, and dragged him half a mile to the stilted cabin of the witch. They brought him in, set him upon a stool, and stripped him of his wet clothing. Taako lit a fire, and the witch wrapped Magnus in a blanket. The able pair massaged Magnus, and ere the day had passed, he began to feel in fighting form again.

“Easy, friend Magnus!” cried the witch as Magnus attempted to rise. “Thou still art weak!”

“I am grateful to you, fair witch. Wouldst thou tell me your name?”

The witch stood tall. “I am Lucretia the good! Wanderer of wood, healer of lost travelers!”

“Thank you, Miss Lucretia. You surely have saved my quest.”

“Oh? And what quest is that?

…

And so Magnus relayed the cause of his anguish, and his goal to kill Kalen. Lucretia listened in silence.

“Kalen rules this land with the force of the emperor,” she informed them. “Many hunters has he sent to kill my kith and kin. I would join in your quest, if you shall have me, and so avenge them and defend my people.”

And so it was that Lucretia the good witch did join the adventurer’s party, and ere the week was ended they went forth all to seek the wise druid of Pan.


	4. The Sage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our brave hero's party expands yet again with a most orn'ry companion...

“Just living is not enough... one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.”   
-Hans Christian Andersen

Behold! Upon a stump sits he, Merle Highchurch, wisest of the sages of Pan! Here hast he been meditating on the miracles of the nature god for seven seasons, his beard grown long, his gnarled oaken arm growing branches for want of pruning. Once the gruffest of the dwarves who lived along the Caledonia coast, the great god Pan appeared to Merle and did command him to wander inland and contemplate truth. And here he hast sat since then, perched upon an oaken stump, awaiting the one who shall rouse him.

...

“Art thou certain this be-est him, friend Taako?”

Indeed, wise Merle appeared to be not of his stature. Grizzled and old, attracting insects, eyes shut in prayer, appeared he more as a corpse than as a seer. 

“Oh, yeah dude. This is totally him, check it out,” answered Taako the fair. “Ay Merle! Wake up my guy, I brought company!”

No answer crossed Merle’s lips. Naught but flies made a sound. The forest was still.

“I do not believe him to be alive,” Lucretia said.

“Oh, he’s alive alright,” Taako did answer. He stepped upon the stump and shouted down at the sage. “Yo Merle! Hey Merle! Meeeeerle!”

A snore rose from the sleeping mystic.

“He slumbers!” cried Magnus. “You’ve brought me all this way to find a sleeping wise man?”

“Hey, chill, compadre,” said Taako. “I’m sure he’s just resting.”

Taako lightly shoved the slumberer, and toppled he directly backwards, tumbling off the stump.

“‘Ey?” said Merle, wisest of the wise, springing aright and drawing forth a shillelagh and swinging it about. “Who rouses me? I wait for the champion of this land, and I’ll no’ be distrubed ‘til ‘e get’s ‘ere!”

“Ho there, knave!” cried fair Lucretia, drawing her dagger. “Thine club be lowered! Your champion has arrived!”

Merle blinked and scratched at his eyepatch. “Be it so? Hast he come at long last?”

Taako nudged Magnus, causing him to step forward and face the seer. “Aye, sir. I’ve come to you in need. Revenge is my cause, and I’ve learnt that you can train me to achieve it.”

“Be it so…?” mused the wise man again. “Very well. Ye had best tell me your story…”

...

A Sonnet for Merle Highchurch, Trainer of Heroes  
Recorded in the witch Lucretia’s Book of Songs

Slayer of monsters, a monster takes reign  
Over all Caledonia and his rule is so cruel,  
The people cry out for a hero, his bane,  
Train him and make him your grandest jewel.

Wisest Seer, lend wisdom to all who would hear it.  
Hero-trainer, stirs now a champion in need of your age.  
A darkness arises and all must now fear it,  
But none could cow you, Pan’s own chosen sage.

Raised you Asgall, who slew the drake.  
Raised you Simeon, who forged mighty swords.  
Raised you Bearnas, who walked ‘cross the lake.  
Raised you Barable, the bard who wrote finest words.

Raise you a hero to surpass one and all,  
Rise now, and never from on high shall you fall!


End file.
